


the ruins at our feet

by EllisLuie



Series: love is loud(er) [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus practices his powers, Luther Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Luther dealing with his new monkey body, Luther is a little depressed, Luther isn't a bad brother, Pre-Canon, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, but he is emotionally constipated, kind of discussion of body dysmorphia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllisLuie/pseuds/EllisLuie
Summary: After his siblings left, dropping off one by one, Luther had never been able to fully adjust to the quiet.akaKlaus visits Luther. Neither of them are thrilled.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves
Series: love is loud(er) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807864
Comments: 22
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> absolutely just using this fic to explore my new and unexpected luther feels. i'm convinced he can be a good brother, he just has to be shown how, the big dumb baby

Luther had never been able to fully adjust to the quiet.

After his siblings left, dropping off one by one (out of order, five six four two seven _three_ , leaving One behind), the Academy had fallen into a silence that Luther had never experienced before. Growing up in a house of seven kids, even with six of them superheroes, the Academy had been anything but quiet. There were always arguments in the halls, music from Three or Four or Seven’s rooms, running feet overhead. Luther hadn’t been able to so much as sneeze without insulting one of his siblings. 

Now he went days without seeing anyone at all.

There were only the four of them in the house now, him and Mom and Dad and Pogo. But he only saw Mom when she cooked meals for him, and he didn’t like to disturb her then, and Pogo was always downstairs in his quarters, or secluded away in Dad’s rooms. Luther rarely saw any of them, least of all Dad. He hadn’t minded quite as much, the distance of his father, when they’d been kids, but he’d always had his brothers and sisters to distract him.

He still went on missions, of course, still fulfilled his role as leader of a now defunct team. It was harder now, because Luther was strong, yes, and he was willing to do whatever was necessary to complete the mission, but he was only one person. Even he struggled to fill in the gaps, to do the job of seven with only One. Luther resented his siblings, a little, for abandoning the Umbrella Academy with no regard for what that meant for the people they were meant to save, the missions they were meant to complete. Dad never said anything about them after they left, not really, but Luther thought he must be disappointed, frustrated, _hurt_ by their indifference too.

But missions were only temporary, so Luther had a lot of free time. 

As a kid, he would have loved the freedom, the opportunity to sit with Three in the attic for another ten minutes, to chase his brothers through the empty rooms without fear of running into class time. When he was younger, the strict schedule their father placed on them had chafed, just a little, just sometimes, just until he was old enough to understand and accept the responsibility of their powers, their obligation to the world. A few times, when he was really small, he’d even joined Five and Four in complaining about their training, though he was ashamed to remember that now. Maybe if he’d been a little firmer back then, told them to knock it off and take it seriously, they wouldn’t have run out on the Academy, the both of them. All of them. 

There was no schedule to follow now, with his troublesome siblings gone. There was no need for a routine because Dad could trust Luther to do what needed to be done without being told. At freshly twenty-four, Luther had all the freedom he and Three had dreamed about, those evenings in the attic, whispering and straining their ears for signs of their Dad’s footsteps.

It was boring.

There were a lot of empty days, stretches of time, weeks, months, where Dad didn’t send him on missions. Maybe there was less of a need for superpowered kids nowadays, or maybe it just took Dad longer to plan the missions because he had to account for weaknesses, work around skills and powers that were no longer available, the lack of anyone watching Luther’s back. Either way, Luther often found himself alone, watching the time pass, thinking of the silence, the absence of his siblings.

He trained a lot, to pass the time. But that was weird, too.

When they had been kids, they’d all had personal training on top of team training. Except for Number Seven, of course, but she was different, ordinary. Personal training varied for each of them, and they never really spoke about it amongst themselves, an unspoken rule they’d carried into adulthood. Even now, Luther only knew what Allison’s training had entailed, and even she had kept some things from him. He had no idea what the others had done for their powers, had never thought to ask. He, himself, hadn’t had much personal training after hitting puberty, after his strength grew to the point it surpassed even Dad’s machines. Then Dad had lessened the frequency of his personal training, and Luther had been disappointed, because he wanted to prove to himself and to Dad that he could do whatever was asked of him, but then he’d had the new responsibility of keeping his siblings in line for their own training.

Without personal training, Luther had dedicated himself fully to the team exercises with his siblings, and he never understood why they didn’t do the same. It was important to see how they worked together, to learn each others’ tells so they could work better on missions, and they couldn’t do that if they refused to train properly. Two was pretty good at applying himself, and Five, too, before he disappeared, but the others were - different. But they’d all still trained together, even if they’d been reluctant, even if they’d been insubordinate, because they had been a team.

So it was strange, training without his siblings. Quiet.

It was an entirely different kind of strange, a sickening kind, to train now, alone and foreign in his own body. His muscles didn’t feel the same, didn’t stretch and respond the way they always had before, the way he hadn’t even thought about growing up because it was normal, human.

It had been a few months since he’d woken up in the infirmary, disorientated and aching and alone and _huge_ . Mom had given him a clean bill of health weeks ago, and it was true that Luther wasn’t in pain anymore, that his body did what it was told without resistance or hesitation. But he wasn’t the same as he was, kept feeling something was fundamentally _wrong_ , and he kept being surprised that his hands clenched into fists when he told them to. Pogo had quietly suggested he get back into training, fall back into a routine, so that he felt more at home. Mom had found him a large coat and gloves, and made alterations so that they could actually fit. Dad barely looked at him.

The first time Luther had actually gone down to the training rooms, he’d smashed the mirror on one of the walls. The glass shards had littered the floor, a thousand Luthers staring up at him, a thousand grotesque, _not-Luther_ bodies. 

He hadn’t tried to train again until Mom cheerily told him she’d cleaned up the mess.

So the quiet was strange, and training alone was strange, and standing at the bottom of the grand staircase feeling the unrelenting emptiness settle around his too big shoulders was strange, but - Luther was managing. He had to, because he was the only one left of the Academy and he was needed, by the world and by Dad. 

In the past few months, the absence of his siblings had been a relief, almost. He had spent the past seven years wandering the Academy’s halls and picturing them, young and thirteen and happy, and he didn’t know what he would do if he saw any of them now, older and distant and _Allison_ instead of _Three_ . If he saw them, they would see him, and he wouldn’t be Number One, strong and human, he’d be Luther, stronger and _not_.

There had been a lot of nights, over the past few months, where Luther hadn’t been able to sleep because he kept hearing Two’s acidic, angry voice, telling him how disgusting he was, how much of a disappointment, couldn’t even complete a mission without getting himself all deformed, some leader he was. Kept hearing Four, all breathy laughter and taunts, poking at him, asking him how it felt to be the family freak. Three, sad and disgusted and scared to even look at him. Except it wouldn’t be Two or Four or Three, it would be Diego and Klaus and Allison, not the kinder children they’d once been.

He missed them, missed all of them, but maybe it was better this way, the four (five?) of them out of the Academy, living their own lives without Dad, without the responsibility, without Luther. Maybe they could be happy, out there, doing whatever it was they did now that they weren’t heroes, and Luther would stay here, alone and strange and still doing missions. Maybe it was better that he didn’t see them, because then he could pretend they were still thirteen and gentle, alive and human and loud. 

He’d like to see Allison, though, just once. Maybe watch one of her movies. Or Vanya, because she hadn’t been a part of the Academy in the first place, so her abandonment didn’t hurt quite as much, because what else was she supposed to do? She was ordinary, she was meant to have a normal life. 

And though Luther cared for his brothers, always had, because he was Number One and it was his job to care, he definitely thought it was better to leave Diego and Klaus to their lives. Every time he thought about them, the adult them, not the teenage Two and Four, he just heard their taunting voices. Diego was so angry and Klaus was so high and Luther was lonely but that loneliness was better, at least. 

So when Luther reluctantly answered a staccato knock at the Academy’s doors, swaddled in his trenchcoat, gloves hiding his hands, he wasn’t expecting to find Klaus on the other side, blinking in surprise and looking up, up, up. Time froze and fractured around them, and Luther was sure, for just a moment, that he was dreaming. That Klaus would open his mouth and spout the usual barbs, laugh in that stupid glib way, and suddenly Luther would look down and find his torso bare, exposed for the world and his brother to see. Or maybe the Klaus in front of him would waver and melt, drip down into the familiar form of teenage Four, who would laugh but not the same laugh, who would take One’s hand and drag him off down the hall for a game of tag.

The moment passed and Klaus was still there, fully adult and standing on the doorstep, blinking, blinking, blinking. “Uh, hey, Luth - ”

Luther shut the door in his face.

He didn’t move away from the door and didn’t speak, just listened to the silence around him, hesitant and spooked. 

There was another knock at the door.

This time, when Luther opened it, he saw Klaus as he was, and steeled himself for what might come out of his mouth.

“Hey, Luther,” Klaus said, one of his hands hovering in the air between them, as if expecting to have to catch the door again. “Uh. Happy birthday?”

That was - not expected. But the chances of Klaus being here at all were so slim, Luther figured anything was fair game at this point. He didn’t move from the doorway, didn’t move to invite his brother in, but that was alright because it didn’t look like Klaus was expecting him to. 

“Our birthday was last week,” Luther said, because what else was there to say? He was still tense, waiting for the hit that would surely come as soon as Klaus’s drug-addled brain realized Luther was far, far too big, all alien lines under his coat. 

Klaus shrugged a little helplessly, spreading his hands out, _hello goodbye_. His smile looked a little self-deprecating. “I don’t have a calendar, and Diego would have given me shit if he knew I came here before seeing him.”

“And … Why are you here?” Luther asked, shifting uneasily. He hoped Klaus didn’t notice, hoped he was too high to make note of the way Luther twisted his body behind the door. 

But Klaus didn’t look high. It took Luther awhile to realize, because his brother was as pale and twitchy as ever, and he definitely looked like he’d crawled out of a dumpster, grime and shadows clinging to him, darkening his hands, his face, but there was something subtly different about him, strange. His eyes seemed steadier, more focussed, though they kept roaming, nervously flicking from place to place. He was tense too, Luther thought, and wondered if that meant Klaus was as nervous as he was.

“I can’t visit my brother to wish him a happy birthday?” Klaus tried, flippant and aghast, putting his palm to his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. 

“Not when this is the first time you’ve cared in the past nine years, no,” Luther said shortly. He was confused and exposed and hadn’t been this close to the world outside of the Academy since his last mission that had gone so wrong. He didn’t know what Klaus wanted, money or Dad’s things or maybe even just attention, but he wanted him gone, wanted to close the door and have it over with.

Klaus deflated, just a little, and Luther didn’t think he was supposed to see it. Klaus was quick to recover, pasting a smile on his face, and it was convincing enough to make Luther think maybe he’d imagined it, maybe he was projecting, because Klaus was fine, was always fine, and had never been hurt by a thing Luther had said to him in his life. He practically lived for insults, thrived under their criticism.

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” Klaus said, raising his hands in surrender. Luther couldn’t help but wonder what the stupid tattoos were supposed to mean, if Klaus had been so high he didn’t remember getting them. It sounded like something he would do. “Though I want it noted that I did, actually, want to wish you a happy birthday. Diego and I had donuts to celebrate, and I wrote Vanya a letter and everything. Tried to call Allison, but, well, you know our dear sister doesn’t take our calls.”

Luther did know. He’d only tried to call Allison twice, once when she had first left and he wasn’t used to the house being so quiet, and then again a few weeks ago, after he’d woken up scared and panicked and alien. She hadn’t answered either call, hadn’t responded to the messages he’d left.

Thinking about Allison hurt, so he waved impatiently for Klaus to get to the point.

“I’m sober,” Klaus said, which was absolutely the last thing Luther thought he would hear. It sounded like a lie, a familiar one that Luther had heard countless times, but, well, he’d literally just noted that Klaus didn’t _look_ high. Didn’t mean he wasn’t, of course, because Klaus had gotten pretty good at hiding it, at the end there, and it had been another seven years since then, so no doubt his skills at deception had only improved. He’d never earned the right to the benefit of the doubt from Luther, certainly not from Dad, who owned the house he was twitching in front of, so Luther was doubtful, to say the least.

“I _am_ ,” Klaus insisted, though he sounded tired, lacklustre. A man who wasn’t expecting to be believed. Luther felt guilty for a moment, but it was quick to pass. “Two whole months, even. Anyway,” he continued, and his fidgeting increased, as if he was trying to annoy Luther. “This whole, uh, sobriety gig - not really my thing, I’m not used to it. It hasn’t been this bad in ages.” He looked funny then, distant, as if he wasn’t seeing the Academy or his brother in front of him.

Impatient, Luther snapped his fingers in Klaus’s face, the way he’d sometimes done as kids. “What does that have to do with you being here now? With me?”

Admittedly, Luther could probably have been more sympathetic. But Klaus had lied about being sober many, many times before, and Luther had been the last one to stop falling for it. It had made him feel naive and stupid every time he realized he’d been played, and then frustrated that he couldn’t reign in Number Four, no matter how much Dad pressed him. And he hadn’t seen Klaus, the real Klaus, in years, and he hadn’t _wanted_ to see him, not big and hairy and actually vulnerable to Klaus’s words for the first time since they were fourteen.

Luther didn’t understand why Klaus was here, seeking him out, _him_ , of all their siblings.

Klaus focused back on him, half-smile dropping for the first time. With an uneasy jolt, Luther suddenly realized the shadows on Klaus’s face weren’t actually shadows. Scars, maybe, not fresh but not old enough to have faded to silver, and he couldn’t even begin to guess what might have caused them. 

“Well, brother mine,” Klaus said tightly, and that was strange too. His fingers wrapped themselves in the hem of his mesh shirt, squeezing so tight Luther could see his knuckles turning white. “I figured, what better place to go when you need help with your powers?”

-

Against his better judgement, Luther let Klaus inside.

Klaus hesitated before he actually stepped through the door, jaw clenched and fists tight by his sides, but eventually he jerked his head in a nod and came inside before Luther could lose his patience. Klaus didn’t seem any happier to actually be in the house, shrinking in on himself and twitching constantly, but he obediently followed where Luther led.

Luther led them to the kitchen because he’d missed dinner and didn’t want to bring Klaus to his bedroom or to the living room, with their childhood portraits looming over them. Besides, Klaus was skinny and probably had no money, so it wouldn’t hurt to get him a meal anyway. Mom wasn’t around, but she’d left a plate of food for him in the fridge, and Luther was just adept enough to put together a clumsy sandwich for Klaus.

His brother took the sandwich without complaint, looking around uneasily.

Luther grunted. “Dad’s in his office,” he said moodily into his food. “He won’t come down here. Pogo won’t, either.”

Klaus relaxed a little at that, and Luther couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.

He didn’t know why he’d invited Klaus in. If he really was sober, then that was great, sure, but it wasn’t really any of Luther’s business. And he was useless when it came to Klaus’s powers, too, because frankly he didn’t understand them. Ghosts existed, sure, but they weren’t really _there_ , not like real things were, and Luther didn’t know how the whole seeing dead people thing worked, but Klaus had never seemed all that good at it. He’d never seemed that interested in trying to be, either, so it was a mystery why he’d decided to come back to the Academy now, years after leaving. 

Luther figured it had probably been the nostalgia that had made him let Klaus in. He hadn’t seen his siblings in years, other than their thirteen year old selves he imagined in the halls (he wondered if that was what Klaus’s ghosts were like), and he’d been terrified of what they might say if he did see them. He’d expected harsh words, mocking tones. Fights, lashing out, yelling. But Klaus hadn’t done any of that, as yet, even though he must have realized by now that something was wrong with Luther. He still could, of course, and Luther was very much aware of that, but so far Klaus had been - not kind, maybe, but civil. Decent. And he’d wished him a happy birthday. Only Mom had done that since they were sixteen, and even then it was perfunctory, a programmed response. 

Luther figured there was no harm in enjoying an actual civil conversation with his brother while it lasted. So, dinner.

Klaus poked at his sandwich more than he ate it, while Luther wolfed down his own plate. They didn’t speak until Luther finished, a remnant of their childhood, and the silence was awkward, but Luther found he didn’t mind. It wasn’t the silence of being alone, because even though it was awkward, it was awkward because there was another person actually sitting with him. Luther wasn’t sure why that made such a difference, but it did.

“Now that I’m clean, my powers are, ah, fully back online, you could say,” Klaus said eventually. He tore one of the slices of bread into crumbs. “And the downside of eating speed every day for the last ten years is that I don’t really know how to … control them. If they can be controlled.” The last part was mumbled, bitter, and Luther thought it wasn’t meant for him. “But, see, the thing is, big guy, I gotta do something about them, you know? I thought the drugs would work forever, that I could spend the rest of my days happily out of my gourd, but that - didn’t work out. So. I need another option.”

An idea was growing in Luther’s brain, taking root and spreading. He shifted in his seat and tried not to come across as too excited, not wanting to scare off his flighty brother. He could make this work. If he was careful, if he said the right things, if he managed to be Number One again, he could help Klaus, help Dad, help himself. It wouldn’t need to be so quiet all the time.

Klaus needed help with his powers. He needed to train them, obviously, needed to learn control. And they were in an Academy literally built to do that.

Klaus had never liked personal training, Luther remembered. Had always rebelled against it, had never applied himself. And now he was suffering the consequences, and Luther would write him off, say he deserved it, but he was _asking for help_ , and that was the first step, right? Luther had failed to make him fall in line as kids, and maybe if he had Klaus wouldn’t have this problem now, but Luther could try again. They both could. Klaus needed to learn to control his powers and Luther needed to get used to this new body, and they could do that together, in the Academy, down the hall from each other like when they were young.

Luther remembered his own personal training, how Dad had kept adding more and more weight, pushing Luther to the absolute limit. And Luther had always been happy to meet the challenge, to follow Dad’s lead, even though at the beginning he’d felt so sure he couldn’t do it, that he’d be crushed under the weight. But Dad had kept adding more anyway, because he knew Luther hadn’t been applying himself properly, and he’d been right, of course. Luther had always been able to find more strength, a well of his power he hadn’t accessed before because he hadn’t been trying hard enough. Number Three had never used to like it when his bones broke during training, but Mom was always good at wrapping him up, and it didn’t _matter_ , he would heal. All that mattered was that Dad was right, he had been strong enough, he just had to believe it.

Luther could do that for Klaus. Maybe not as ambitious, not at first, and he’d be gentler, because he remembered how gentle Four had been, how he would cry and beg not to go for training. Luther remembered team training and how Dad had made Number One spar with the others, and he had never _liked_ sparring with them, didn’t like how they learned to grimace and stiffen their shoulders before facing him, didn’t like Two or Five’s dirty looks whenever he got in a hit on Four or Six, but Dad always said it was necessary. And that had worked, too, because seeing the bruises on his brothers afterwards had taught Luther to not only exercise his strength, but to regulate it too. Luther hadn’t liked the training, but it had worked, and it would work for Klaus too.

He leaned forward in his seat, eager, and caught Klaus’s eye. 

“You can learn to control them,” he said, and he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, wanted to make sure it all got across, but he was just so excited, head spinning with the possibilities. He just had to make Klaus _see_. “We can train your powers, here, at the Academy. I’ll help and we’ll work on it together, both on your powers and my - Dad will know more on what’ll work, obviously, but he’ll be pleased that you’re back. It’ll be like before, personal training, and team training, too, though that will be different now. We’ll go easy, at first, until you’re used to it again. But I’ll help, Klaus, I promise, I’ll - ”

But Klaus was shaking his head frantically, palms up in surrender, and his eyes were too big and why wasn’t he listening, didn’t he understand? 

“Fuck no,” Klaus blurted, and Luther jerked back into himself. Reality washed over him in a cold wave. Of course. Of course Klaus wouldn’t want to be in the Academy with Luther, he’d left, he’d left years ago for a reason, why would he come back.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Klaus said, and his voice was strained. He jumped up from the table, nervous, eyes darting from side to side. Luther followed, slower, resigned and embarrassed. Naive, stupid One. “Fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking - _shut up, I told you_ \- I shouldn’t be here.”

Luther followed him out the kitchen and up the stairs, to the front doors. Klaus was jumpy, breathing shakily, and Luther made sure to linger behind a few steps, terrified Klaus would turn on him in an instant and finally mention the ~~elephant~~ Luther in the room. But he could have been a part of the drywall for all the notice Klaus took of him, swiveling his head around to peer at every shadow, flinch at every noise.

“Klaus,” Luther said finally, with his brother’s hand on the door, ready to run away again. “What - ”

“I’m sorry,” Klaus interrupted. “I’m sorry, Luther, sorry, but I can’t. I can’t do that again, not now. I need to control my powers but not - not like that, never like that. Please,” he said urgently, trembling, covered in scars-not-shadows. “Please don’t tell Dad I was here. Promise me.”

They were in Dad’s house and there were cameras everywhere, they both knew that. Dad had a right to know Klaus had been here, asking for help with his powers - and Luther had ruined it, said the wrong thing, chased him away. Luther imagined telling Dad he’d failed, again.

“Okay,” he said. “I won’t tell him. But, Klaus, he could help.”

“Sorry, Luther,” Klaus said again, and his voice was starting to sound terrifyingly wobbly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but changed his mind. He just shook his head again and yanked open the door to scurry out. 

Luther didn’t move to stop him. The doors fell closed. And Luther stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, listening to the quiet of the defunct Umbrella Academy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: klaus swears a Lot in this chapter. got a real potty mouth

Luther didn’t tell Dad. He should have, he knew that, knew Dad would want to know. But he didn’t. He didn’t know why.

Maybe because Luther was still learning to live with his latest failure, too afraid to ask Dad about his next mission because he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Was Dad delaying because he thought Luther couldn’t handle it, because he’d botched the last one so badly he’d almost died, had died, and come back wrong?  _ Could  _ Luther handle it? Could he approach his father now and tell him he’d failed again, failed to convince Number Four to return, failed to strengthen the Academy when it was clearly at its weakest?

Or maybe it was because Dad hadn’t spoken to him at all since he’d woken up in the infirmary, and Mom and Pogo were nice and gentle and familiar, but they were automatons, creations, and Luther had never seen them the same way he saw his siblings. Dad and the others weren’t created to care about him. They were real in a way that hurt, because they’d left, but it had been real, when they were here. Maybe it was because without Dad by his side, Klaus was the only family to really speak to Luther in years. And he hadn’t been cruel or angry or high, even though things had fallen apart at the end. He’d just been there, asking for help.

Maybe it was just because the Academy seemed even more quiet after Klaus’s visit, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. The mansion had gotten a reminder of what sound and life were like, and now that it was gone, everything was always so silent. Maybe it was because days passed and Dad still didn’t deign to talk to Luther, didn’t join him for meals or even send messages along through Mom.

Maybe it was just because he’d promised Klaus he wouldn’t tell.

No doubt Dad knew anyway, of course. It had been no secret growing up that they were constantly being surveilled, recorded, watched for their development, their behaviour. There wasn’t much to be seen anymore, just Luther shuffling from bedroom to kitchen to the training rooms, over and over and over, but he was sure Dad at least still made Pogo keep an eye on the tapes. So he must have known about Klaus.

Dad didn’t say anything about it, and that just put Luther on edge. Shame, guilt, embarrassment, all because he’d never been able to control Four, not when they were kids and certainly not now.

Days passed, melted into a week (or was it two? There was no routine anymore, no schedule, no missions, and Luther had stopped keeping track), and Klaus’s name was not uttered anywhere in the house, at least not that Luther heard. And it wouldn’t be, would it, because Luther didn’t tell anyone, and Dad never used their names.

However many days later, with the house pressing in all around him, Luther heard a tapping.

He was upstairs when it happened, in his bedroom. He stilled, hunched on his too small bed, listening, breathing, trying to determine what was real and what was memory. Was it Three tap-tapping at his bedroom door, Two banging on the wall? 

The tapping came again, and this time Luther knew it was real. It came from his window.

Klaus was balanced on the fire escape, nails clicking on the glass.

“Oh, Romeo,” Klaus huffed, out of breath, when Luther yanked the window open. His brother tumbled gracelessly into his room, laying splayed on the floor. “No, scratch that, don’t make it weird. Hey, bro.”

Klaus hadn’t called him ‘bro’ since they were fourteen.

“You do know we have a front door,” Luther said. It was raining outside, the beginnings of a storm, the fire escape slick with water, and Klaus had never been steady on his feet. It wasn’t the biggest drop from an Academy window, but high enough that it would have been a nasty fall. Luther closed the window.

Klaus groaned from the floor. “Didn’t want to try my luck. Never been much of a gambler, never been my addiction of choice. Imagine that, an addiction I don’t have.”

Luther squinted at him closely, but he still didn’t look particularly drugged up, despite resembling a starfish and taking up all the floor space in Luther’s room. Luther not so accidentally nudged Klaus’s ribs with his boot as he shuffled to make room on the bed. Klaus whined but took the hint. The bed bounced as he flopped down.

“So,” Klaus said brightly, clapping his hands together. His knee jiggled nervously, up and down, in time with the frantic darting of his eyes. “I may have - overreacted, last time. Maybe. Personally, I stand by it, but between us, I have the  _ biggest  _ nag following me around. So I’m back.”

He wouldn’t meet Luther’s eyes, even though Luther was openly gaping at him. His head just kept twitching, this way and that, and Luther couldn’t help but notice how tight he was squeezing his hands together.

“Okay,” Luther said, very slowly. “I don’t… Uh, Klaus, I don’t understand what - what’s going on here?”

Klaus let out an impatient noise. “Like I said, I need help with my  _ fucking  _ powers, because I’ve been trying the whole doing-it-alone thing and it doesn’t seem to be doing shit, if I’m honest, Bob. As much as it deeply pains me to admit it, I think I need help. But not Dad’s kind of help. Seriously, I’d rather - well, I’d say snort a whole lot of coke, but I know that won’t work, because the universe is a fucking bitch.”

“So you … came to me for help? With your powers? Are you sure I’m, uh, the best choice for that?” Because Luther wasn’t, not by a long shot. He could pick up heavy things and throw them really far, and he was a pretty good strategist, all things considered, but that all involved real, tangible things. Ghosts, not so much.

“Oh, you absolutely aren’t, dear,” Klaus said easily. “No, truth be told, my powers have always been different from yours, from all of you. A certain  _ je ne sais quoi _ , if you will, which really just sums up my whole little existence, doesn’t it?” Suddenly, Klaus’s voice dropped, quieter, softer. “Ben, though. He got it.”

As always, Luther had to suppress a flinch at their brother’s name.

Klaus didn’t give him the chance to say anything, though, just kept ploughing forward. “Five, too, that bastard was always so curious about the little ghosties.” Klaus waved a hand dismissively. “But you’re here. And I figure you’re my next best choice.”

That didn’t make any sense, though. Luther was a little behind, trying to wade through the onslaught of words Klaus had just thrown at him, because he’d been surrounded by the quiet for so long he’d forgotten how to keep up, but he was pretty sure it didn’t make sense. And Klaus was so strange, so nervous, and he wasn’t high which was its own alien facet to his brother, but there had to be something more.

“But  _ why _ ?” Luther asked, and feeling confused around Four had always been the normal for him, for most of them, but he’d never felt this desperate to understand before. “Why me?”

And Klaus did look at him then, and everything stilled. Luther almost had to remind himself to breathe, because Klaus had stopped fidgeting, stopped twitching. He just looked at Luther with a clarity in his eyes that was almost foreign, and under the light of Luther’s lamp, the scars on Klaus’s face were so much clearer and sinister. Luther had no idea what put them there. He had no idea how to ask. 

“Because I think you’re like me,” Klaus said, and the voice he used wasn’t one Luther recognized. It was soft and surprised, almost, wondering. “I think you never left the Academy for a reason, and - I think it’s the same reason I ran away as soon as I could. You’ve stayed here, alone, for all these years, because you have nowhere else to go. I didn’t, don’t, either, which is why I stay on the streets. Because I think we never really left this place, not like the others, and I think we’re both lonely.”

“What has that got to do with your powers?” he asked, because there was no way he was having the ‘lonely’ talk with Four, even a strangely soft and deep Four. 

Klaus shrugged, looking away, and the strange tension was broken. “Nothing,” he said, tipping his head back. “Everything. So. What do you say, big guy? You in?”

Luther thought about the camera that was almost certainly still in his room. He thought about Pogo and Mom, absent all evening, nowhere in sight. Thought about Dad, still in his rooms, still not assigning Luther any more missions. He thought about team training and Six’s black eye and Dad’s red notebook, recording everything they ever did. He thought about gangly Four, never throwing a solid punch at One’s exposed side, even when Dad didn’t let them stop until he showed improvement. 

“I’m in,” he said. He noticed Klaus eyeing him from the side, noticed the subtle tightness of his shoulders. “Not Dad’s way. We’ll do something else. Find something that works.”

And Klaus smiled.

Luther turned to look out the window, watching the rain pouring outside, clouds an angry gray that promised a bad storm. He weighed his words, not wanting to scare Klaus away again.

“You should stay tonight,” he said. “Mom will make breakfast in the morning. And, uh, I don’t think Dad will be there. If he is, I’ll help you leave.”

“Aw, that’s actually sweet, Lu!” Klaus crooned, already moving off the bed. “But no can do, I’m afraid. See, the thing is,” he leaned in close, furtively looking around. “ _ I fucking hate this house _ .”

The sentiment was not a new one. Klaus and Diego had gotten overly fond of the declaration in the days before they all finally jumped ship, and Luther could remember hearing it echoing down the halls several times even before that. He was pretty sure they’d all said it before, at least once, all except Luther, who had always tried to make them stop. Five had said it first, days before he ran away, and then Klaus had all but shouted it one night, tottering drunkenly at the top of the stairs, defiant and manic. Ben had muttered it under his breath a few missions before his last, and Diego had said it to their father’s face at the funeral. Allison had held Luther’s hand as she said it, bags packed and taxi outside. Vanya had never said it out loud, but she’d written it into every line of her book.

Luther had never felt the same. He took offense every time his siblings said it, in fact, because there was nothing wrong with the house; it wasn’t the building his family didn’t like, it was the people inside. And when they’d all made it their motto as they walked out the door, how was he supposed to not take offense?

But then Luther had spent the next few years alone in the house, quiet and empty, and yeah, he thought he understood now. He thought maybe he hated the house, too.

So he watched as Klaus scrambled back out his bedroom window, back into the rain, and he didn’t protest. Instead, he reached out a hand (too big, too clumsy) and snagged his brother’s scrawny arm before he scurried down the fire escape.

“You said you and Diego went for donuts, for our birthday,” he said, a little self-conscious in the face of Klaus’s upturned brow. “Maybe we could do that.”

Klaus examined him, frowning, and Luther dropped his hand. He felt stupid again, leaning out his window, feeling the rain soak his hair, the shoulders of his coat. Half in the house, half out. 

“Sure,” Klaus said finally. “Sounds great! You can treat a gal like me to something blueberry. Or chocolate.”

-

As nice as it almost was to have at least one of his siblings back in his life, Luther was kind of disappointed that it happened to be Klaus. They’d never really gotten along as kids, though it hadn’t turned to fully-fledged animosity until they were teenagers. He thought maybe he could remember a few times when they were young where Four had actively sought out One for something or another, a game or a laugh or just to squeeze his hand in that nervous, scared way he’d eventually grown out of. But in general, One and Four hadn’t been close. Luther had stopped paying much mind to Klaus after his brother started throwing his life away and spitting in Dad’s face, failing on missions and being relegated to lookout. 

And as much as Luther had missed his siblings, missed their presence and their voices in the house, Klaus had always been a bit - too much to handle.  _ Rambunctious _ , Mom used to say.  _ Annoying _ , Luther called it. 

Seven years apart hadn’t done much to temper his brother’s grating energy.

Although, Luther could admit that it all seemed a little forced now. He’d never been the most perceptive of their siblings, never been one to read their emotional cues well, because Luther had always felt separate from them, distant. But he’d also spent the past seven years surrounded by their thirteen year old selves, dwelling on any memory he could dig up, particularly in the past few months. So even to his admittedly untrained eye, Klaus’s behaviour now was off. 

But then again, so was Luther’s. He was uncomfortable and on edge being out of the Academy, hyper aware of the space he took up at their table, and he was more than a little impatient. He almost regretted leaving at all. 

“I don’t know what I can do to help with your powers,” he said, a little tersely. He was on his third glazed donut. Klaus was still prodding at his first, only half having made its way to his mouth. 

Klaus shrugged. “Honestly, me neither. I think I just need someone  _ there _ , y’know? I don’t actually know if I can do anything to make them go bye-bye, but if I can, I need to find out, and fast. But when I tried before it got, uh, a little messy.” He flicked his hands out dramatically, sending a piece of his donut flying. “I need someone there to remind me who’s dead and who’s alive in the whole equation if I get a little lost.”

The lady who had served them was giving Luther a funny look. He wished they’d sat at a table farther from the windows. “And you can’t go to Diego because?” He could feel himself getting more tightly-wound, less patient, and he didn’t exactly want to push Klaus away but how long could it possibly take to eat one donut? Luther had agreed to buy him one, one donut each and then back to the Academy, and he wished they’d gotten them to go.

Klaus bit his lip, eyes sliding to the side. “He’s been good about, you know, everything, and that’s great. But I really don’t need him mother-henning me all the time. And you, Lu, have never had a maternal bone in your body! Perfect match. If I freak out with all the big bad ghosties, I know you’ll keep me on track. It’s all the  _ one more hour, Number Four  _ with none of the Dad!”

His brother often spoke nonsense, that wasn’t new, so Luther didn’t pay much attention to that. 

But this sounded like something he could do. Hell, it had been his whole job growing up: make sure his siblings stayed on task even when Dad wasn’t around. He hadn’t always been successful, his authority always challenged, undermined by Two and Five, but he’d been pretty good with Three and a younger Four and Six (maybe he was too good with Six, too successful, because Six had listened to him to the bloody end, had followed One’s orders to die - ), and he’d lost control of Four as they’d gotten older, but maybe he could do it again now. Klaus didn’t want to involve Dad, which still seemed needlessly petty and complicated, but he wanted to involve Luther specifically because he could do what Dad did. It was, possibly, the best compliment any of them had ever given Luther.

“We’ll start tonight,” Luther said determinedly, reinvigorated. “Finish eating and we’ll go.”

Klaus dropped the donut, looking pale. But he always looked pale. “Ah,” he said. “There it is, great! I just - I meant what I said, I really don’t want to go back to the house. As delightful as it would be to see dear old Dad, I’d actually rather chew off my own foot.”

Luther huffed impatiently. “You want training,” he pressed, watching Klaus nod hesitantly. “That means the Academy. We can use the training rooms, Dad never even goes there anymore.”

Luther was familiar with the brief surprise that passed over his brother’s face at that. They’d never been allowed into the whole half of the Academy dedicated to their training without Dad as children, had always needed his express permission and supervision. But the rooms were designed specifically for them, and they were adults now. It had taken Luther awhile to get used to, but there was no better place to exercise both his and Klaus’s powers. 

Klaus still looked uncertain, but Luther was set now, and something in his face must have convinced his brother because he sighed into his donut. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he grumbled. “But next time, I’m serious about the blueberry. And  _ you  _ can’t have any,” he shot to the thin air by this elbow. Luther rolled his eyes because why would he want Klaus’s stupid donut? Particularly since  _ he  _ was the one paying.

He watched Klaus amble through the rest of his food, taking his time to tear off individual pieces. As soon as he was done, licking the glaze off his fingers, Luther herded them out of the building. The Academy was only a few blocks away, and he vaguely remembered one of the entrances leading directly from the street to the training end of the building. Klaus dragged his feet as they walked, mumbling what Luther could only assume were unflattering things under his breath, but he obediently let Luther steer him towards the old ice cream place that stood as one of the many hidden entrances into the Academy.

The training rooms designed specifically for Four were hardly ever used, even as children. They hadn’t known about Four’s powers until after the others’ had already manifested, so Dad had wasted a lot of time running various tests to see if Four would respond to any. He hadn’t, of course, and then they’d found out about the ghosts and Four’s training had taken a different turn. Luther had never known what the training was, but whatever it was hadn’t needed the training rooms in the Academy.

So as they eased their way into the rooms now, almost two decades later, it was almost eerie. Mom didn’t bother to clean this side of the mansion much, aside from the rooms Luther frequented for his own training, so there was a layer of dust over everything, and there was little to no actual furniture or equipment around. There was one armchair, presumably for Dad when he used to monitor Four, and a side table with various blank papers and pens, but not much else.

“Well, this is just lovely,” Klaus drawled. “Dad always had an eye for atmosphere.”

Luther grunted and pushed his way through the reinforced door. Reluctantly, Klaus followed.

“Will this work?” Luther asked, standing in the middle of the room and feeling a little lost. “I mean, are there, uh, ghosts here to practice with?” As always, he felt kind of silly mentioning invisible people only his druggie brother could confirm actually existed. Dad had always believed him about the ghosts, though, so that meant Luther did, too. Mostly.

Klaus hummed thoughtfully, inspecting the room. “Oh, yeah,” he laughed a little breathlessly. “It’s a real party! A little exclusive, maybe, but I see a few old friends.” He wiggled his fingers towards one of the corners, looking more than a little jumpy, and Luther really hoped he was messing with him. 

As always, the thought of ghosts around them, invisible and unheard except for by Klaus, made Luther uneasy. He’d almost forgotten over the years how it felt to be beside Klaus, the air of discomfort, the feeling of being watched. It had been stronger when they were kids, and faded as they got older, but he could still feel it now.

Klaus waved Luther towards the armchair, and since Luther was very much out of his depth, he complied. As he settled into it, having a moment of vertigo as he pictured Dad doing the exact same thing, Klaus folded himself onto the floor in the middle of the room, curling into a ball. It was so unlike the usual posture Klaus adopted literally any other time that Luther was caught a little off guard.

It didn’t feel appropriate to speak, not with Klaus’s eyes closed, shoulders tense, so Luther sat awkwardly in the chair, ignoring the creaking of its legs. He’d never seen his siblings train their powers individually like this before, and he found he didn’t know what to do. Should he watch, scrutinize his brother closely as their father surely had? Or should he offer some kind of privacy, keep watch in case of - what, ghosts? He didn’t know. And Klaus’s powers were so different from the others. Luther could imagine Diego’s training, and Five’s and Ben’s, and Allison’s too, based on what she told him growing up, but Klaus? There were no knives, no Horror, no external display. 

There was just Klaus, sitting in the middle of the room, quiet and pale and - scared? Luther frowned and tried to look closer, taking in the fists at Klaus’s sides, the faint shaking of his shoulders. He’d never been that good at reading his siblings, but Four had been a nervous child, always jumping at shadows and seeking comfort in the others when he had nightmares; Luther knew how his brother looked when he was scared. It was more subdued now, tempered, but the signs were there.

Luther knew Klaus had never liked the ghosts. He’d fought Dad tooth and nail on them for as long as any of them could remember, always desperate to avoid personal training, always turning to this sibling or that and pleading for them to help. Luther had thought it was pathetic at the time, a weakness that Four should be ashamed of, a thought fueled by the way Dad always dismissed and punished Four for his antics. Luther had thought for sure it was all an act, a ploy to get them to pay attention. 

But it was just Luther here now, and Klaus had to know he already had his full attention. Besides, this wasn’t the display of fear he’d played out as kids - this was something Klaus was trying to hide, from  _ him,  _ from Luther.

Klaus let out a thin huff of air, like an angry teakettle, and bowed his head, clenching his fists tighter. His forehead folded into concentrated lines, determined and focused in a way Luther had always wished to see as kids. He’d never seen Klaus work this hard at anything, except for maybe rolling the perfect joint under the dining table.

Luther couldn’t help but lean forward in anticipation, curious despite himself about his brother’s power. 

A chill threaded throughout the room, so natural and so slight that Luther almost didn’t notice. But there were no windows here, no draft, and something about it gripped him, clung to him. He didn’t know how, but he knew Klaus was the source. 

It was just the two of them in the room, Luther and Klaus, One and Four, but Luther let his thoughts wander, just for a moment, into thinking about how many ghosts there might be around them. Only Klaus could know, but for a second, a fraction of a breath, a twitch of his eyelid, Luther could have sworn he saw - something. A flicker, a shadow, sliding quickly past the wall. 

He jerked his head to the side, on edge, trying to catch whatever it was, but of course there was nothing there. He was letting his mind play tricks on him, nervous anticipation getting the better of him, distracting him from his task. Dad would have been disappointed.

Klaus grunted, small and involuntary, recapturing Luther’s wandering attention. 

“Stop,” Klaus bit out, keeping his eyes tightly closed but violently shaking his head once. “Fuck  _ off _ , go away.”

Luther wondered, briefly, why it seemed so much harder for Klaus to banish the ghosts than to conjure them in the first place. If Four’s night-time ramblings were to be believed, he could conjure ghosts so easily they sometimes appeared in his sleep, crowding around him enough to wake him. If conjuring was so simple (when he was young and sober), why was getting them to leave so difficult? Wouldn’t it just be like shoving them out the same door he pulled them through?

Seeing Klaus getting more agitated, Luther stood from the chair and stepped closer, unsure of whether he should intervene. Dad certainly wouldn’t, not when Klaus was clearly communicating with the dead in some way, and that meant Luther shouldn’t either. But he didn’t like the way Klaus kept jerking in random directions as if trying to dodge something blindly, didn’t like the sound of the breaths he kept forcing through his teeth. He hovered indecisively by Klaus’s knee.

“Fuck!” Klaus gasped suddenly, eyes flying open. He looked around wildly for a moment, cringing, then caught sight of Luther, looming over him. His breath caught, something terrible passing over his face, and Luther quickly backed up.

“What happened?” he asked once Klaus stopped looking like he was going to have a spontaneous heart attack. “Klaus?”

At the sound of his name, Klaus flinched. “Fuck,” he repeated, quieter, less panicked. “Jesus Christ, goddamnit.” He shook his head again, one of his hands jumping up to the side of his face, digging his fingers into his hair.

He was still breathing erratically, hugging his knees to his chest, and Luther had no idea what to do.

“Should - Should we try again?” he tried, because that’s what Dad would have done. And Klaus had said himself that he came to Luther because he wanted Dad’s help without Dad’s actual help. 

But Klaus just laughed, high-pitched and horrifically on the verge of tears. Luther really hoped he didn’t start crying. “No,” Klaus said, rough and shaky. “No fucking way, nuh-uh. God, I forgot what it was like here. They’re so goddamn  _ bitchy _ . Boo-hoo, you got beasted by a pre-teen, suck my dick.”

“What?” Luther said, lost, but Klaus wasn’t talking to him.

“No, shut up, this was a mistake, right? Not sure what we were expecting. Well, duh! No, nonono, I’d just like to peace out of here and never come back, ta very much.” Klaus was rambling, tugging on his hair a little bit, face tilted slightly to the side. 

Luther could only watch helplessly, standing beside him but clearly forgotten. He could see how bright Klaus’s eyes were, how shaky he still was, could hear the ragged note in his voice. He wondered what he’d seen.

He shuffled closer, kneeling down so he wasn’t standing so tall over Klaus. He thought about snapping his fingers to get his brother’s attention, but then remembered how shaky and timid Four always got after training. 

“Klaus,” he said instead, firmly. “Hey. Look at me.”

Klaus did, swiveling his head around and catching his next breath. His eyes were big and round and scared, and he cringed away from Luther like he’d finally figured out what was under his coat. 

“No,” Klaus moaned quietly, desperately, and his hand clamped tightly over his ear. “Nonono.”

“Klaus - ”

Suddenly, Klaus shot forwards, darting out a hand and latching onto Luther’s wrist. Luther tried to pull away, caught by surprise, a rush of  _ notgooddon’ttouchme _ surging up through him, but Klaus didn’t let go as easily and Luther didn’t really want to break his brother’s bones just to get free unless he had to. Luckily, Klaus had his fingers wrapped around the sleeve of Luther’s coat, not actually touching the skin underneath, so Luther wrestled down the spike of panic.

“Oh,” Klaus said in a small voice. His grip spasmed on Luther’s wrist. “You’re - oh. Good. That’s - thank fuck.”

It took a long moment before Luther remembered what Klaus had said at the donut shop. How he needed someone to remind him who was a ghost and who was real. He still didn’t quite get it right away, because Klaus should have known immediately that Luther wasn’t a ghost, because he wasn’t dead. But he couldn’t deny the panic he’d seen on his brother’s face, or the way that panic had subsided somewhat once Klaus grabbed him, felt him solidly under his hand. It was not a pleasant realization.

“Klaus,” Luther said again. His brother’s hand fell limply away from his wrist, and Klaus tucked it to his chest with his knees. “I think we should go again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was while writing this fic that i realized just how introspection heavy literally every chapter is. and how sparing the actual dialogue/action is in comparison. but in my defense this entire series is just a completely self-indulgent way for me to explore the psyche of all the characters, particularly pertaining to klaus, so i regret nothing. i guess each fic is mostly like a character study with some semblance of plot lol


	3. Chapter 3

On their fifth attempt at training Klaus’s power, something happened.

They’d been sneaking in and out of the training side of the mansion for three weeks, and Dad had yet to say anything to Luther about it. He was almost positive the man knew, because sometimes Luther would find an extra serving of dinner waiting for him in the kitchen, clearly made by Mom for someone other than Luther, and Mom didn’t do anything without Dad’s knowing. But nothing was ever said and no one tried to intervene, not Pogo, not Mom, and certainly not Dad himself, so Luther kept meeting Klaus in secret.

It was very strange, seeing his brother on a semi-regular basis. Luther never fully knew when Klaus would show up, because the visits were sporadic and random, occurring whenever Klaus felt like it and didn’t have plans with Diego. But it was getting colder outside, approaching mid-November, frost starting to form on Luther’s window at night, and he found that Klaus’s visits were getting more frequent, training lasting longer. Occasionally, Luther managed to get him to eat dinner and crash somewhere quiet in the mansion for the night, sometimes without training at all.

That was strange, too, because Klaus only came to Luther because he needed a firm hand when it came to his training, specifically because he knew Luther wouldn’t coddle him. But when he showed up at Luther’s window some nights looking strung out and tired (not high, he hadn’t looked high yet, and Luther was starting to believe him about the sobriety), cold to the touch and difficult to talk to, needing Luther to repeat himself sometimes three times just to get through, Luther found he couldn’t push the training. Once, he’d actively talked Klaus out of it, because Klaus was always so quiet and peculiar after their sessions, and when he started out already tired, already jumpy, it was so much worse. 

Luther thought maybe he was softening up to Klaus, just a little. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He tried to stay focused on the purpose of the visits. Klaus was only visiting Luther, visiting the Academy, because he needed help with his powers, nothing else. And Luther could help him with that, even though sometimes he wondered if it was doing any good at all, because Luther was Number One, was raised to help his siblings get a grasp on their abilities, their purpose. 

The second and third training sessions had gone similarly to the first, with Klaus quickly getting panicked and overwhelmed with whatever it was he saw. Luther didn’t notice any real progress in those sessions, but he did start to get a grasp on what to do to help Klaus calm down quicker. Generally, he had to let Klaus touch him, either by grabbing his arm or, in a rare instance, allowing Klaus to engulf him in a brief hug. He couldn’t be the one to touch Klaus, though, because that just set off a panic attack that Luther had no hope of helping with. That happened during the second session, and Luther had had to just scramble away and let Klaus hyperventilate his way through it.

Klaus kept coming back though. Kept asking Luther to help.

The fourth session had been the shortest and least successful. Klaus had barely settled into his usual position on the floor before something made him launch himself backwards, suddenly terrified and desperate to get away. He’d gibbered some nonsense, let out a keening string of  _ sorrynopleasedon’tsorry  _ that made something twist in Luther’s gut, then cowered against the wall until Luther pulled him to his feet. They’d quickly called it a night after that, and Klaus had disappeared out the window almost immediately, despite the snow starting to fall.

The fifth session, though.

There had been a long stretch of time between the disastrous fourth session and Klaus’s reappearance for the fifth. Long enough that Luther had begun to wonder if he’d come back at all. 

But Klaus had come back, with a new determination in his eyes that Luther thought bode well. Klaus was still jumpy and nervous, more impatient and snappish at Luther than usual, and he wavered in the entrance of the training room for a long time before settling in. 

Truthfully, Luther had been prepared for another bad session. He’d been watching his brother closely for the warning signs, the tightness that would appear around his eyes, the way his lips would start to form pleading words, and he’d almost missed the chill that fell upon the room.

As with the very first session, Luther thought he saw movement in the corner of his eye, but of course there was nothing there when he looked. Unlike the first session, however, Klaus gave a sharp intake of breath and then - his hands  _ glowed _ . It was faint, hard to see for sure, just a faint suggestion of blue at the tips of his fingers. Luther wouldn’t have noticed except for the indistinct shadows that started to wrap themselves together into shapes around the room. There were maybe half a dozen of them, though it was hard to know for sure, because every time Luther tried to look at them they dispersed, retreating to the edges of his vision.

Something like horror, fear, gripped at him, and he had to fight back the instinctual urge to tell Klaus to  _ knock it off _ . Because these were ghosts. They didn’t look like people, didn’t even look like things, really, just clumps of slightly distorted air, but Luther knew. It was the way they felt, he reflected later. Cold and impersonal and There but Not Alive. It was a feeling that was hard to describe, but one he’d felt before, when Four used to curl up next to him on the bench seat in Griddy’s late at night, half-asleep and leaning against his shoulder.

Klaus’s eyes were still closed. He hadn’t seen the formless figures slowly populating the room. Luther hoped, for a fleeting, horrorstruck moment, that his brother  _ wouldn’t  _ open his eyes, even though surely he had seen worse. Because Luther didn’t know much about the ghosts, but he was pretty sure Klaus had said in the past that they looked human, not like these patches of displaced air. And he hated that thought, because even these indistinct forms were enough to make him feel sick, because they weren’t natural, they shouldn’t exist, they shouldn’t be crowding his brother like that, and the idea that Klaus could see them even clearer was - appalling. Sickening.

Then Klaus opened his eyes.

He blinked rapidly a few times, looking confused, and Luther wondered what he could see. Whatever it was wasn’t enough to send Klaus into a complete spiral, though, so Luther was tentatively hopeful.

Of course, that was when one of the barely-visible shadows -  _ ghosts  _ \- drifted closer to Klaus, stretching and dissolving and reforming within arms reach. Klaus’s breathing hitched, staring straight at the ghost, even though Luther was having difficulty forcing his brain to even acknowledge the patch of air that existed a little to the left of everything else.

There was another ghost next to Klaus, Luther thought, but that one wasn’t moving, so it was harder to focus on. It wasn’t making a threatening move towards his brother, not like the other one, so Luther decided to ignore it in favour of the ripple of air reaching out to Klaus’s shoulder.

Klaus just watched its progression with wide eyes, barely breathing, and Luther alternated between scanning Klaus’s face and straining to follow the ghost’s movements. 

As soon as the ghost seemed to make contact with Klaus, it wavered into something more concrete. Luther caught a glimpse of blue hands, clutching tightly to Klaus’s shoulder, the faintest impression of a female form, the profile of a sharp chin and soft nose - and then Klaus screeched inhumanly, desperate and afraid, and every shadow around the room briefly flickered, human faces peering out, before fading completely.

The sudden  _ absence  _ that fell over the room was disorientating.

“Oh, God,” Klaus said, staring around the room with wide, wide eyes. “That just - she fucking  _ touched  _ me, oh my god.”

“What was that?” Luther asked, ignoring the note of panic in his own voice. But there had been  _ things  _ in the room with them, actual moving things, ghosts, real ghosts that he had  _ seen _ . Luther was a million miles outside of his comfort zone. “Klaus, what the hell was that?”

Despite the imminent freakout Luther could see brewing, Klaus was still aware enough to jerk his head in Luther’s direction. “Wait, you - you saw them?” There was a hysterical lilt in Klaus’s voice, sharp and brittle.

Luther could only nod mutely.

“Holy shit,” Klaus said faintly. He barked out a laugh that verged a little too close to a sob. “Oh, come  _ on _ . I was looking for a way to get rid of them, not - not whatever the  _ fuck  _ that was.”

“It’s okay,” Luther said, though he wasn’t sure it was. “This is - good. It’s progress, it means the training’s working.” 

Dad would have to speak to Luther now, after learning about this, because this was huge. Number Four hadn’t made any kind of progress with his powers since they’d discovered his imaginary friends weren’t imaginary in the first place. Luther was proud, for a moment, because he’d done that, he’d helped Klaus grow his powers beyond even what Dad had been able to do.

But Klaus had started crying, silently, almost dazed, as if he hadn’t noticed himself, and Luther forgot about Dad.

“Sure, yeah,” Klaus said absently, eyes unfocused. “Fucking fantastic news. Not only can I not make them go away, turns out they can actually touch me now, just like they’ve always wanted! This is great, awesome.” He laughed again, and this time it was harsh, low and solemn. 

Luther was missing something. He felt unbalanced, unsure, like Klaus was a wild animal and Luther had to figure out a way to subdue him. He approached his brother slowly, tentatively, not liking the way Klaus didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Klaus? This  _ is  _ good. If you’re getting stronger with your powers, that means maybe you can learn complete control. You can still make them go away.”

“No, Luther,” Klaus said, turning to him. It didn’t look like he was crying still, but his eyes were sad, resigned in a way Luther hadn’t seen before. “This is - this is so far from even approaching good. Don’t you get it? They’ve always wanted to hurt me, and now they can.  _ And I can’t stop them _ .”

-

Klaus was different, after that.

Luther had coaxed him out of the training room and into the spare bedroom he’d used before on nights he’d been convinced to sleep at the Academy, but it had been like leading a zombie, docile and absent. And though Klaus had always been absent-minded, he’d never been so submissive before, so easily-led and malleable, acquiescing without so much as a dirty look. Truthfully, it put Luther on edge. He would even say he was concerned, except it was Klaus.

The next morning, Luther found the spare bedroom empty, bed made and unslept in.

Dad still didn’t approach Luther about the clandestine training, though he thought maybe he caught Pogo eyeing him speculatively on the few occasions they crossed paths. Mom was as kind and empty as ever. The Academy remained big and quiet. 

Klaus did not come back.

And although Luther refused to actually worry about his brother, telling himself Klaus had always been unreliable, always likely to run out as soon as they made real progress, he couldn’t stop his dreams. 

He’d dreamed about his siblings a lot since they’d left, and even more so after his accident. Sometimes he was even awake when he dreamed about them. But in the days following that last training session, Luther’s dreams only increased in frequency, feeling more vivid, more real. He remembered stray things from their childhood that he’d long ago forgotten.

He remembered the collection of markers Five used to carry with him at all times, old and half-dry but always available when he needed to write something down, on paper or wall or floor. Remembered the sound of Six’s feet on the stairs on his way to his room, distinct from the others in that he didn’t run or stomp or tiptoe. The tic in Two’s jaw every time a word got tangled around his tongue. 

Luther’s memory had always been good, his intellect nothing to sneeze at, particularly with aviation or math or physics, though he could never hold a candle to Five. But Luther had always been good at committing things to memory, whether it be Dad’s orders, their schedule, Three’s favourite snack foods. He disregarded things he didn’t need, forgot extraneous information that served no purpose; and that included a lot of little things about his siblings, things he’d deigned as unimportant years ago. Some of what he’d forgotten was bubbling back up in his dreams, trying to fill the gap that his adult siblings had left with pieces of their younger selves.

He dreamed about Four, sometimes. Mostly he dreamed about the few times Four had volunteered information about the ghosts or had been asked about them, though that had occurred so rarely. Four had stopped talking about the ghosts altogether after they turned seven or eight, at least as far as One had been aware, and none of them had ever been particularly curious enough to ask, other than Five. Four’s powers had always been boring, invisible, passive and useless, so they’d never paid much attention to them. 

Luther did remember, though, how scared Four had always been. Back when they were really small, young enough to still be wholly united, young enough that Luther had still been the unwavering protector, strong and brave and Number One, Four had sought him out for comfort, once or twice. Had pressed into his side and squeezed his hand, trembling and weak, and One had known he had to protect him, because Four was defenseless, like Seven. He couldn’t see the ghosts, couldn’t understand why Four was so afraid, but he’d squeezed Four’s hand right back and hadn’t said anything when he trailed after him. 

That hadn’t lasted, of course, because Luther had quickly become an enemy in his brothers’ eyes. And Four had turned into Klaus, rude and grating and high, and he’d stopped sneaking out of his room after nightmares, stopped skirting around dark corners, stopped being afraid of the ghosts. Except, Luther realized now, clearly that wasn’t true. Because back in the training room, not just during the fifth session but for all of them, he was slowly seeing, Klaus had been afraid.

Something in Luther’s gut told him Klaus wouldn’t be coming back for another session. Remembering the unease that had overtaken him at the sight of those distorted shadows, Luther didn’t think he could really blame him.

But it was definitely winter now, even if the snow had yet to fully stick, and Klaus had nowhere to go. Mom was still making a second plate at dinner.

Luther didn’t like leaving the Academy, not looking the way he did after the accident. He felt clumsy and lumbering, a tarnish on the Umbrella Academy, and it was just easier to stay indoors, with a robot mom and simian butler. Inside the Academy, Luther didn’t feel as much of a freak. But Klaus wasn’t coming back to the Academy.

Luther didn’t have a plan, really. He knew Klaus was slippery enough to disappear if he wanted to, knew it would be next to impossible to find him if he didn’t want to be found, and the streets were significantly more familiar to Klaus than they were to Luther. But he went out anyway.

He went for donuts.

It took him two nights and a dozen donuts before Klaus slid into the chair across the table. 

He was wrapped up in a hideous, ragged coat, a plain black hat on his head that Luther figured probably came from Diego, and he looked - well, not great. Thin and pale and haunted, faded like an old photograph. There was none of the usual energy bursting at the seams.

“I’m not training anymore,” Klaus told him. There was a challenge in his eyes, but there was no fire behind it. Luther felt uncomfortably like he did around those ghosts, cold and empty and There, but Not Alive. It didn’t feel like Klaus.

“I know,” he said. “Are you … okay?”

Klaus flicked his gaze over Luther, pointed and assessing, over his overcoat, his gloves, the collar of the turtleneck. “Are you?” he returned.

The bolt of fear and horror and  _ ohgodheknows  _ was strong but brief. Luther managed to wrestle it down before he destroyed the donut still in his hand. Not sure he could say anything without saying everything, he took a bite. He wondered how long Klaus had known. Wondered how long he’d known and hadn’t said anything.

Klaus sighed. “It happened again,” he admitted. “A few nights ago. I was asleep, mostly, and then - they were there. They disappeared as soon as I woke up properly.”

That explained the bags under his eyes, then. Presumably he hadn’t tried to sleep much after that.

“Sorry,” Luther offered awkwardly. 

His brother just shrugged and snagged the second donut still waiting on the table. He nibbled on the edge, looking at least slightly pleased to find the blueberries baked inside. They sat there, eating their respective treats in silence, none of the usual fidgeting or humming and hawing. It was - very strange.

Luther couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was making him ill at ease. Something about Klaus wasn’t sitting right, and Luther would be the last to claim any kind of deep understanding of Klaus, but he was worried. It was like he was sitting with a reflection, all the makings of Klaus with none of the life. It felt like Klaus was dispersing right in front of him, like he would fall out of existence just like those suggestions of ghosts had done. A switch had been flipped at the last training session, and Luther didn’t know how to switch it back.

Klaus had made the ghosts real for the first time, real enough to touch, and he’d known about Luther’s - changes, but hadn’t said anything, nothing cruel or awkward or as unfailingly gentle as Mom. He’d just gone on like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong, very wrong, because as soon as that ghost had touched him, it was like a part of Klaus had faded away with it.

Luther was suddenly inexplicably desperate to bring back the loud, brash Klaus from before, the one who Luther had expected to laugh at him, to poke and prod and tease at his misshapen form, the one who’d known, maybe from the beginning, and hadn’t done any of that. The one who’d asked for Luther’s help, only to come out the other side even worse off because Luther had tried to be Dad and made things worse. The Klaus in front of him now was quiet and timid and tired, worn thin and barely present. Every movement he made looked slow and calculated, like he was being overly careful not to attract attention, and it was so unlike Klaus, unlike Four, that even Luther, distant as he was from his siblings, felt the loss.

“I’ve been writing to Allison,” Klaus said suddenly, apropos of nothing. “I mean, I’ve only sent one letter. Threw out the rest. She hasn’t responded, she probably won’t, but. You could try, too. She might actually read yours.”

Luther didn’t really want to think about that, about what he might say to Allison, what she might (or might not) say back. 

“Planning a family reunion?” he asked instead. “Crashing with Diego, visiting me, writing to Allison … I’m surprised. Thought you were the first to turn your back on the family.”

That came out harsher than he intended, but his point stood all the same. Four had been a tactile child who flitted from sibling to sibling, but Klaus was always the one to slip away at the first sign of actual familial contact, preferring to climb out third story windows or sleep in dumpsters rather than risk coming across a brother or sister. 

Klaus slouched in his seat, losing his enthusiasm for the donut. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But, you know. You only live once before you become a nasty ol’ ghostie, and I think I’d rather reconnect with our wayward siblings before that happens.”

There was something else to that, something Klaus wasn’t saying, but Luther had about the same emotional literacy as a teaspoon, so he knew better than to try and take a stab at it. 

“Well, I’m glad,” he said awkwardly, sincerely.

He thought about telling Klaus about how empty the house was without them all, how quiet the halls were, how bored Luther always was. Thought about telling him how much he just missed them, plain and simple, and how - relieved? - he was that Klaus had knocked on the door that day, then knocked again when Luther had closed it in his face. He thought about telling him about it all, but he didn’t. He thought maybe Klaus knew anyway.

The man in front of him now wasn’t the same Klaus Luther remembered from Ben’s funeral, the last time he’d really seen him. Luther thought maybe he wasn’t even the same Klaus that had shown up on the Academy doors a few weeks ago. He was sober and scared and tired, fumbling with his powers and terrified of them. He reminded Luther of Four, back before the drugs, before Five, before he stopped looking to One for protection. He reminded him of himself, stripped of his usual confidence, left to stumble his way through learning a new side of himself, getting used to a new level of his strength, a new shape. 

Klaus gave him a weak smile, the shadows under his eyes deep, the scars on his face an uneasy mystery Luther didn’t want answered. “Thanks, bro,” Klaus said, raising the donut as if in a toast. “To fucked up family, I guess.”

Luther raised his own donut in answer.

-

After months of little to no contact, Dad called Luther into his study. 

Despite having wanted this very thing, Luther couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, knowing what it would be about. Who it would be about. 

“Number One,” Dad said, still focused on whatever he was writing on the papers spread out on his desk. “I have been aware of your foolish meetings with Number Four for some time now. I let it continue without interruption because I hoped you would prove yourself capable enough to get through Number Four’s thick skull. In light of recent events, even Number Four’s debatable contributions to future missions would have been an invaluable asset. When you restarted his training, I even dared to hope for a breakthrough of some sort, and I admit the progress you made with him is remarkable. Making the ghosts even minimally visible shows great promise for further growth.”

“I can try talking to him again,” Luther offered. “Try to convince him to come back. But the training, Dad, I don’t think it was really helping. His powers, yes, but he didn’t - ”

“I am aware you allowed him to dissuade you from further training,” Dad overrode him, briefly glancing up in warning. He never did like when they spoke out of turn. “He behaved similarly resistant to training as a child. Understanding how difficult Number Four can be, I gave you some time to get him in line, but it has been several weeks now and you have failed to do so. I have no choice but to conclude you are unsuited for the task.”

It took a moment for the words to fully sink in, Luther’s greatest fears come to fruition. All he’d ever worked for, all he’d ever wanted, was to meet Dad’s expectations and make him proud, to prove himself the son worthy of the title Number One. But he’d failed as a child, never able to control his siblings, unable to stop Five from running away, Six from dying, Four from self-destructing, and he’d failed as an adult, deformed, a liability, incapable of doing even one thing right, a string of failures.

The ground was shifting under his feet, tilting side to side, and Luther couldn’t grab onto anything fast enough to stay upright. “Dad,” he said, shamefully desperate. “Give me another chance. If I could just talk to Klaus - ”

It was like Dad didn’t even hear him. “Number Four’s training will no longer be your concern. Instead, I have a new mission for you, one of great import. No doubt it is more suited to your skills.” He pulled a file from one of the desk drawers and let it drop on the far side of the desk, in front of Luther. He didn’t look up. “I trust, Number One, that you will complete your mission satisfactorily. You can get the finer details from Pogo, and the mission begins first thing in the morning” 

“Yes, Dad,” Luther said automatically. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, so he grabbed the file and left Dad’s study, still reeling. 

He waited until he reached his bedroom to properly look at the file. There was a brief summary of his expected duties on the inside cover, as usual, with the pages of more minute detail following. But Luther didn’t read that yet, too focused on the picture pinned to the first page.

The moon stared up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not entirely happy with this fic but. ah well. might take a wee break before the next installment (theoretically, allison) to figure out what went wrong, but in an ideal world i'll be able to get most of the series done before s2 comes out bc writing s1 au after that does not jive with me. 
> 
> i also have a handful of other angsty fic ideas i want to get out in the meantime, so. idk how productive i can be in 16 days but we shall see lmao


End file.
